


Prince of the Morning

by sinnerman



Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An immortal Hero with a host of dark secrets, and one weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Story

Logan grinned at the noise as he walked into his mother's bedroom.  Another mirror shattered as she hurled a silver goblet across the room.

"Get out!" screamed the Queen, and the hapless doctor fled before her wrath, fully aware that she could have killed him numerous times in the last few minutes.

Fearless, Logan sauntered up to his mother and kissed her on the cheek.  "What's got you so angry, Mother?"

Walter coughed nervously as the Queen stalked away, her face still twisted with fury.  "It seems that Her Highness is...  with child."

Logan choked back a laugh.  "What?  Seriously?" He looked at his mother.  Her age didn't show in the trimness of her form, only in the white streaks in her dark hair.  "You didn't use protection with the little Baron?"

"Why would I use protection?" she snapped, but her son could see a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.  "He was a virgin, and I'm almost fifty!" The truth was that she was much older than that, but she didn't think it was necessary to mention that to her son.  The stories about her youth were old, almost forgotten, and she liked it that way.

Logan laughed, knowing that his mother loved the fact that he was supremely unafraid of her.  "I guess that means you should marry him," grinned Logan impishly.  "Wouldn't want my little sister or brother to be born a bastard."

The Queen frowned.  "I'm too old to be a mother, this is ridiculous."

"You can do anything you want," smiled Logan.  "You are the Queen, after all."

"I have battles to fight," she snarled, pacing impatiently across the room.  "I don't have time for this."

"I'm sure that the doctors can do something about this," said Walter reassuringly.  "In fact, he probably would have offered something if you hadn't chased him out of the room."

She frowned at that, and crossed over to the window to gaze, unseeing, into the garden.  She murmured something that neither man could hear.

"I did not hear what you said, Your Highness," said Walter nervously.

"It might be a girl.  I've always wanted a little girl," she said softly.

"You're the Queen, Mother.  Do whatever pleases you," smiled Logan, quoting her favorite saying.

The Hero Queen laughed joyously, and sat down on the couch.  "Walter, go summon Baron Theodore.  I have a few words to say to him," she smiled.  "Logan, my son, I guess you're going to get more practical training in Kingship sooner than you thought!"

 

Logan looked up in surprise as the small boy toddled into the room.  With a tiny squeaking noise, the little Prince ran up and hid behind his mother's skirts.

The Queen laughed indulgently, and picked him up.  "What brings you to my war room, dearest?"

Zachary put his arms around her neck, and whispered something into her ear.  The Queen laughed, and walked over to Logan.  "You have to be brave, little Zachary.  Besides," she set the boy on the floor, "he's your brother, he isn't going to hurt you." She glanced quickly at Logan, who smiled reassuringly at his little brother.

Logan reached out and ruffled the child's hair.  "Hello, little brother."

"Hewwo," Zachary whispered nervously.  He held out a neatly wrapped oblong box.  "Happy Feastday!"

Logan was genuinely surprised.  "Why, thank you," he smiled.  "Should I open it now?"

Zachary nodded eagerly, and Logan opened it to reveal a beautiful antique dagger, set all over with precious stones and with archaic script etched into the shining blade.

For a moment Logan forgot that he was a Prince in the castle, and was just a warrior inspecting his new weapon.  It was not only beautiful, but perfectly balanced and skillfully sharpened.

"Do you wike it, Logan?" asked Zachary nervously.

"I do," smiled Logan, and picked up the boy for a warm hug.  "Thank you!"

Zachary kissed him on the cheek, surprising Logan again, and the Queen laughed.

"Now, go back to your lessons, dearest.  Logan and I have work to do."

Zachary hugged his brother again, then ran to his mother for a kiss before leaving the room.

"You never sent me out of the room when I was a child," Logan observed.  "You treat him like a toy."

The Queen looked calmly at him.  "You were born to be the King."

 

Zachary ran up to his mother, then back to Jasper, then back to his mother again, babbling excitedly the entire time.  The other children were no less excited, but more restrained since it wasn't their Feastday celebration and they weren't a Prince of Albion.

"Where's Logan?" demanded the little Prince.  "He said he would be here!"

"Now, now, my Prince, it is a long journey from Mistpeak.  He might not be back in time," said Jasper gently.  "Don't wait for Logan, go and play with the other children."

"But he'd said he'd be here!" Zachary looked up at his mother.  "He'll be here, won't he, Mother?"

The Queen smiled calmly.  "That's the third time you've asked me, child, but my answer hasn't changed.  He will be here if he gets here." Still beautiful, the Hero Queen Zorana was finally starting to show her age.  She looked idly around at all the noble children, glittering in their holiday best, and Zachary ran off again – not to play, but to look eagerly out the window for any sign of his brother's expedition.  The Queen smiled softly to herself.  "A noble heart, and a loyal one."

"My Queen?" asked Jasper.

The Queen shook her head.  "I spoke to myself, it is of no moment." She waved the butler away.

One of the little girls ran up to Zachary and coaxed him away to join the game of musical chairs.  The Queen smiled in pleasure as the little boy joined the game, calming down two angry players and making everyone share fairly.  They sang, and danced to the music, giggling wildly.

The Queen glanced at the window without rising, then looked back at her son.

Zachary sprang to his feet with a wild exclamation of joy, and raced out of the room before Jasper could stop him.  "He's here!  He's here!"

The Queen laughed under her breath as Jasper chased after his charge, then stood slowly, and followed them to the main hall.

"Logan!  You're here!" Zachary flung his arms around his older brother, who laughed and picked him up, spinning the little boy around and making him scream with laughter.

"Of course I am," Logan smiled.  "Did you doubt it?"

"No!" The little boy hugged him tightly.  "I knew you would come!  I knew you wouldn't miss my Feastday!"

"Welcome home, sir," Jasper bowed.  "Shall I take your cloak?"

"Actually," grinned Logan, "could you get my gift from the carriage?  It's the basket on the seat." Still carrying Zachary in one arm, Logan walked up to his mother to greet her.  "Mother, dear, you look tired."

"It's a room full of seven-year olds.  The conversation has focused chiefly on rabbits, candy, ponies, and frogs for the last two hours." The Queen sighed.  "Did I mention the candy?"

Zachary giggled, and Logan laughed.  He offered his arm to his mother, and she took it gratefully as they returned to the ballroom and the party.

"Now, where do you suppose Jasper has gotten to?" smiled Logan.  "Ah, there he is." Logan set his little brother down, and took the basket from Jasper, who glared angrily at the Prince Regent.  "What?" said Logan innocently, then laughed and set the basket before Zachary.  "Happy Feastday, little brother!"

Confused, the little boy pulled away the blanket, then stared, his eyes wide with wonder and joy.

The puppy yawned, then shook itself as it slowly woke up.  The little boy was the first thing it saw, and the puppy eagerly sprang forward, and licked him on the cheek, then barked cheerfully before jumping into his arms.

Logan smiled at the look on Zachary's face.  The little boy was speechless with gratitude, almost overcome with happiness.

The Queen smiled, a little sadly, remembering a friend of her own.  She gently stroked the little boy's hair, smoothing it back into place, and let the puppy lick her fingers curiously.

"I shall go make arrangements for the care and feeding of the young Prince's new companion.  Please excuse me," sighed Jasper, and bowed himself out of the room.

 

The Queen leaned on her sword, panting heavily from the exertion.  She could sense it, the impending silence drawing closer and closer.  She forced it back, forced herself to stay standing.  She was a Hero, and a Queen, and she was not done yet.  Not quite.  "Logan..." she said quickly, "where is Logan?  Where is my son?"

One of the nearby soldiers turned and ran, shouting for the Prince.

The Queen smiled to herself.  She could hear the awe in the man's voice.  It was one thing to hear tales of how one Hero could hold off an entire army single-handed.  It is quite another to be standing behind the Hero when that happens.  She longed to sit down on the pile of bodies surrounding her, she longed to rest and let the silence take her.  Instead, she tightened her grip on her sword, forced herself to stay upright.  She would not let him find her old, tired, and weak.  He would see her as he had always seen her - strong, proud, and fearless.

"Mother!" Logan ran up to her, deftly avoiding the slick patches of blood on the path.  He moved as if he would support her, but instead found himself clasped in her strong arms.  "Mother...."

Walter had followed Logan down the path, but stopped at the sight of her.  Was it her wounds that gave him pause, she wondered, or was it the scene of carnage just beyond?

"My son," she said softly, and kissed his cheek.  Try as she might, she couldn't keep a note of possessive pride from her voice.  "My Logan."

For a moment, he didn't understand what she was doing, then he felt the weight of the crown on his brow, and felt her hug him again.

"The King that Albion needs," she whispered.  "And if their needs change, well, they can make another one," she laughed, blood spilling from her lips.  "But this one, this one is mine!"

It wasn't the savage, bloody wounds that made him think it, or her age, or even the unusual softness of her voice.  It was the sound of her sword falling to the earth that told Logan that his mother was dead.  The woman who still answered to 'Blade' before 'Zorana' had finally let go of her beloved sword - so that she could put her arms around her beloved son.  Silently, Logan lifted her into his arms, shocked at how small and frail she seemed.  It was as if the magnificent light that had always filled her had not only faded away, but had taken away some of her physical body as well.

"Your Highness?"

"She's dead, Walter," said Logan with a calmness that he didn't entirely feel.  "Pick up her weapons.  She would want them to rest with her."

Walter picked up the sword and her guns.  "The Queen may be gone, Your Highness, but the crown endures.  Long live the King," said Walter firmly.  The cry was repeated by the soldiers nearby, then picked up by the men beyond, and farther, until the entire battlefield rang with the proud paean of loyalty.

Logan, the blood-stained crown heavy on his brow, bowed his head to his men, and surreptitiously kissed his mother for the last time.


	2. First Sight

"Is this seat taken?"

Zachary looked up in surprise.  He didn't recognize the man who was speaking.  He was darkly handsome, tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed to show off his personal wealth.  The stranger also had a small, heart-shaped patch decorating his face.  "It isn't," Zachary admitted.  "We haven't been introduced."

"I know."  The man bowed gracefully, never taking his eyes from Zachary's slim form.  "And we won't be.  I am merely here to witness a single combat, and walk off with a very large purse."  He dusted off the perfectly clean seat before he sat down.  "I understood this box was going to be empty."

Zachary blushed.  "I'm not supposed to be here either, but I wanted to see my - the Black Knight."

"Oh, dear," the stranger smiled.  "I certainly hope you haven't bet on him.  He's going against my champion, and she isn't going to lose to some mere nobody."  The stranger looked over Zachary again; noting the fine stitching of his plainly cut clothes, the cleanliness of his hands, the overall glow of health that only comes with being well-fed and well-rested.  "Not even a noble nobody playing at tourney."

Zachary held back a smile.

"Oh, so you think your Black Knight stands a chance against my Iron Mistress?"  The stranger smiled slowly.  "Shall we make a friendly wager on it?  No gold, of course, that would be far too common.  Shall we say - a kiss?"

Zachary looked at him in shock.  "What?  I've never - "

"I know," the stranger smiled.  "And I would give all my currently held wealth for the chance to be the first person you ever kiss."

Zachary stared at the field, unsure of how to answer.

The stranger went on as if he had assented.  "If my Iron Mistress wins, you owe me a kiss.  If your Black Knight wins, I'll give you a kiss."  The horns sounded, and the two contestants rode out onto the field.  The crowd went wild for the Iron Mistress, making Zachary's quiet cheers for the Black Knight almost unnoticed.

But Zachary saw the Black Knight turn, and raise his lance to Zachary, and he knew that his brother knew he was cheering for him.  Zachary forgot all about the stranger's presence as the tournament started, and eagerly watched his brother ride across the field.  The first pass was devastating to the Iron Mistress, as she took the Black Knight's lance full on and was completely unhorsed.  Fickle as always, the crowd cheered wildly as Logan wheeled his horse around to wait for her to get up.

"The wench will pay dearly for that," snarled the stranger, his voice dark and angry.  Zachary suddenly realized that the stranger was standing right next to him, idly clapping for the Black Knight for a few seconds.  Before Zachary could move away, the stranger gently rested his hand on Zachary's back.

"I don't think you should be doing that," said Zachary, and tried to move away.  The Iron Mistress mounted again, and they started another pass.

"I'm trying to think of why I haven't met you before," the stranger mused.  "I am persona grata at all the noble houses of the kingdom.  For that matter, how could a darling little thing like you have reached such an advanced age without ever being kissed?"

Zachary flushed.  "I'm not out yet.  Perhaps you'll be at my Feastday when I am presented to the King," he smiled.

"I assure you, I will be."  The stranger's hand was still on Zachary's back, warm and gentle, and Zachary didn't want to make a scene by pulling away again.

"You might not get an invitation," Zachary suggested, and the stranger threw back his head in amused laughter.  On the tournament field, Logan unhorsed the Iron Mistress again, but this time, her horse had to be led away.  Zachary cheered as Logan dismounted, and the combatants switched to sword and shield.

The stranger shook his head in disgust at his champion's poor showing, but had already stopped caring about her eventual loss.  He looked down at the young man next to him.  "I'm trying to think of what noble warrior you resemble."

Zachary glanced up at him.  "I don't look very much like my brother.  Oh!" he blushed, realizing that he was giving clues to the Black Knight's secret.

"Brother?" smiled the stranger.  "I can't think of anyone in my circle who has an underage brother."  On the field, Logan had just knocked the Iron Mistress flat on her back.  "Well played, good sir," the stranger cheered politely as he clapped.

The Black Knight glanced over in their direction, and leveled his sword at the stranger, then imperiously gestured for him to move.

"Moi?" said the stranger in surprise.  "Who does he think - "  He looked down at Zachary, then back at the Black Knight.  "Merde."  He bowed to the Black Knight, then stepped away from the boy.  "Well, that was unexpected," said the stranger under his breath.  "I do hope I still get an invitation to your Feastday celebration."

"I'll think about it," smiled Zachary, trying not to laugh.  "It is my brother's decision."

"But surely," smiled the stranger, "you could put in a good word for me.  After all," he looked at the field, where the Iron Mistress was being carried away on a stretcher, "I owe you a kiss."

Zachary laughed.  "I suppose you do.  You don't have to, I'll live without it."

"I'm sure you can, but I would prefer to pay my debts.  Have no fear, I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."  The stranger smiled, turning his darkly handsome face to the boy.  "My plan is to make you want to."

 

Zachary slipped away from his partner and through the glass doors heading to the garden.  The air here was less oppressive, and the loud chatter of the ballroom was muted by the trees and the hedges.  He walked to an empty arbor and sat down, seeking peace in the silence.  He looked up in irritation at the sound of footsteps on the gravel.  Was it Jasper, he wondered, or his brother following him to chase him back to the ball?

"My, my," said a sardonic and vaguely familiar voice, "it certainly is stuffy in that ballroom.  Oh, hello there, my Prince.  I didn't notice you there."  Reaver bowed to the young Prince, and gestured at the empty seat.  "May I?"

Zachary nodded nervously.  "Of course."  He moved over, to make room, but Reaver sat right next to him anyway, their bodies just touching.  "Is Reaver your real name?" he asked curiously.  "Wasn't that what your father was called?"

Reaver laughed, showing off his perfectly white and even teeth.  "Indeed, my Prince.  It's much easier to just go by Reaver, believe me."  Reaver looked curiously at the young man at his side.  "And you, my Prince?  Do you prefer your title, your nickname, or a bit of judicious informality?"

"You may call me Zachary," the Prince sighed.  He knew what his nickname was among the young nobles of his brother's court, but wasn't ready to change just yet.

"I am honored, my - Zachary."

Zachary looked up at the older man.  "Why did you follow me out here?"

"It has been a long time, but...  I still owe you a kiss," said Reaver gently, and before the Virgin Prince could move, Reaver's lips were on his, his arms around the young Prince.  He could taste the young man's innocence on his soft, sweet lips, and Reaver idly wondered what he tasted like to the Prince.  He slid his hand into the wealth of soft brown hair, savoring the moment, holding the epitome of untouched youth in his arms.  And there was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something he hadn't felt in a very long time, something that he didn't want to let go.

"Reaver?  No.  Just...  no."  Logan's voice was equally amused and irritated.

Zachary sat up quickly, and didn't meet his brother's eyes.  He tried not to blush as Reaver slowly drew his hands away.

Reaver looked up at the King, who was lightly resting one hand on the jeweled blade at his hip and had a steely, forbidding look in his dark brown eyes.  "As you wish, Your Highness."  Reaver rose gracefully, and bowed to the two Royal young men before he retreated to the ballroom.

"He...  caught me off guard," blushed Zachary.

"Reaver has that effect on people," said Logan wearily.  "You should stay away from him.  I hear he's a wonderful kisser, but he's a bad man, little brother."  Logan grinned wryly.  "On the other hand, I am amused to know that I have something Reaver wants."  He looked curiously at his younger brother.  "Are you going to follow my advice?"

"I didn't come out here with him.  I came out here to get away from everyone."  Zachary sighed. 

"So I noticed," smiled Logan gently.  "Come, little brother.  It's your Feastday, you should be celebrating, not hiding."  He held out his hand, and drew Zachary to his feet.  "I know you're shy, but you'll be fine," he said encouragingly.  "You're just young, and you've spent too much of your life surrounded by older people.  I thought you would be more comfortable with people your own age, but," he shrugged, "I could be wrong.  Come back to the ball, and find out for yourself."

"I just get so nervous talking to people."

"You didn't seem to have any trouble with Reaver," Logan pointed out.

Zachary laughed.  "We weren't really talking," he blushed.  "But you're right, I really didn't."

"Maybe you should start all your conversations with a kiss," suggested Logan with a grin, and the brothers burst out laughing before heading back to the ballroom.

Zachary looked around curiously, but he was found by courtiers before he managed to find Reaver.  He could still feel the warmth of Reaver's lips, and wondered if he looked any different, but no one seemed to notice that he'd just been kissed.  He was drawn into a circle of sparkling conversation and a round of dances.  He found himself smiling more easily, and even joining in some of the foolish gossip, rather than shying away as he usually did.  From one of the courtiers, he learned that Reaver had left the castle already, in the company of Lord and Lady B--.  Zachary smiled wryly at the news, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

The evening was drawing to a close, and Zachary slipped away to his room before any of the importunate courtiers noticed.  Shoshie jumped up to greet him with a happy bark, and Zachary hugged the dog.  "I had a wonderful time," he whispered, and Shoshie licked his face in reply.  With a laugh, Zachary threw himself on the bed.  He looked up in surprise at a large bouquet of white carnations resting on the bedside table.  "Where did that come from?"  Zachary reached over, and took a small card from the heavy crystal vase.  The envelope was directed to "The Virgin Prince."

Zachary stared at the envelope, feeling the crisp linen-like texture of the paper for a moment before opening it to see the hastily scrawled note within: "Another day, perhaps.  I will wait," above Reaver's bold signature.  Zachary looked at the flowers again, then replaced the note in the envelope and hid it under his pillow.  He lay down on the bed, watching the flowers until he fell asleep.


	3. Masquerade the First

"Yes, yes, that will be fine," said Logan impatiently.  "Do whatever you want for the ball.  Just be sure to invite everyone that I've mentioned."  He waved away the sample invitations that Zachary was holding out for his perusal.

"Oh, of course," said Zachary, trying not to be angry.  "Would you like me to order your costume as well?"

"Yes, spare me the ridiculous details," Logan grumbled.  "Now if you're done, I have work to do."

Zachary bowed gracefully, and left his brother's study without another word.  Elise rose as he walked out of the room.

"Well?" she asked eagerly.  She looked at his frown.  "He said no?"

"Worse, he said yes without even listening."  Zachary walked down the hall, Elise following with a sympathetic smile on her face.  "He never listens to me anymore.  He treats me like a child, a pretty toy that's good for nothing more than providing amusement to all the nobles he wants to keep out of his hair, but he won't let me do anything to really help him!"

As he started to walk down the stairs, one of the maids gasped in horror.  "M'Lord!  Look out!"

Zachary felt his foot slip on something slick and wet, and he started to fall over, only to find himself in someone's arms, resting against a broad chest and staring at a spotless, flawlessly tied lace cravat.  "My, my, what can these be?" asked Reaver as he picked up one of the glittering invitations.  "Another ball?"

Zachary carefully tested that he was standing on solid, dry ground before he pulled away.  "Thank you, Baron.  Yes, I'm planning a ball to celebrate the festival season."

Without acknowledging the fact that he had saved the Prince's life, Reaver idly shook the glitter away from his hands before handing back the elaborately decorated square.  "Why are they all white?"

"I was planning a theme," blushed Zachary.  "Everything is going to be white.  Costumes, decoration, food, everything."

Reaver raised a supercilious eyebrow.  "How...  interesting.  I do hope I am still on the list of invitees."

"Of course, Baron.  I wouldn't dream of having a gathering without the King's most devoted supporter."  Reaver chuckled, and bowed politely to the Prince in acknowledgement.

Elise rushed down the stairs, now the maid had cleaned up the spill.  "Are you all right, Zachary?"  She made a quick curtsey to Reaver.  "Baron."

"Lady Elise," Reaver bowed politely.

"I'm fine, thanks to the Baron."

"It was my honor to be of service, Your Highness," Reaver bowed again.  "I am looking forward to attending your ball.  I do hope the King has mellowed in his previous...  inflexible...  stance regarding the gardens.  A wonderful day to you, Your Highness."  Reaver continued up the stairs to Logan's office, pretending not to notice the rosy blush rising on Zachary's cheeks.

"What was he talking about?" asked Elise curiously.

"Nothing, come on, if we're going to be amusing dolls we might as well have fun doing it."  He took her by the hand, and they ran out to the fountain to meet with the other young nobles to finish planning the ball.

 

"Lady Elise Rothering, may I present Reaver, the Baron of Greater Bowerstone?"

Resplendent in her ivory gown and a froth of glossy white lace, Elise curtseyed politely to Reaver, and held out her hand to be kissed.  Reaver's lips were warm and soft on her hand, and he lingered over the traditional greeting slightly longer than was strictly polite.  "Our first formal meeting, Baron."

"Indeed," Reaver smiled, without letting go of her hand.  He was properly dressed in all white as well, varying shades of white from his cravat down to his spats, and a tie that had just a hint of color.  He had even changed his black heart-shaped patch for a tiny white star.  "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?" His timing was flawless, as the last dance had just ended, and the person who had just introduced them was the original name on her dance card.

Elise smiled politely, and followed Reaver to the dance floor.  The Baron was graceful and danced divinely.

"How did you ever convince the chef to make all the food white?" chuckled Reaver.

"Zachary can be very persuasive," Elise laughed.

"I remember when he was just a shy little stripling.  And look at him now, every woman's dream." Reaver glanced over at the sycophants crowding around the young Prince.  Zachary was sitting on a window seat, with a host of courtiers leaning on the wall around him or sitting at his feet, glittering and white, like the petals of some exotic orchid.  The Prince himself sparkled with diamonds, set as buttons on the silk of the solid white coat that he wore, exquisitely cut to show off his square shoulders and slim hips.  He had even gone to the extreme of powdering his light brown hair, but instead of coming out white, his hair seemed to shine like spun gold, and the iridescent powder made it look like he had a halo.  As Reaver watched, the young Prince tilted his head and smiled laughingly at one of the courtiers around him, his lips curved into a perfect smile.  "And no doubt, some men, too."

"He's still terribly shy," Elise giggled.  "You can make him panic just by threatening to kiss him."

"Really?" Reaver laughed.  "I thought the two of you...." he let the sentence trail away.

"We're supposed to be engaged, but no," sighed Elise.  "I suppose after we're married he'll have to give in."

"Ah," smiled Reaver.  "Would that be the reason behind the White Ball?"

Elise laughed.  "Indeed, it's sort of an inside joke in our circle."

"Well, perhaps we can convince him to join us for a little amusement?  Break down the little barriers around our dear Prince?"

Elise nearly stumbled, but Reaver gracefully covered her misstep and supported her whole weight with one hand while she recovered.  "Are you serious?" she whispered.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Reaver smiled.  "Youth and innocence have an appeal of their own, and when it belongs to two such lovely and attractive people…."

Elise blushed.  "Well, if you add your voice to mine, maybe we can convince him," she smiled eagerly, looking up at him as if seeing him for the first time.

Reaver laughed.  He knew the look in her eyes.  It was as familiar to him as breathing.  The look of someone hungering for a new experience, someone seeking something new and unusual.  Like most people of Albion, this young woman had a natural appetite for pleasures of the flesh, in sharp contrast to her betrothed.  It would be a piquant mix, her lust and the young Prince's reserve.  "Let us go find our wayward innocent," suggested Reaver.  Elise nodded, and he gracefully led her from the dance floor towards the little dais where he had last seen the Prince.

"Oh, now where has gotten to?" Elise stood on her tiptoes and looked around the ballroom.

"Are you looking for the Prince?" asked one of the courtiers, his eyes glowing with untold gossip.  "He had to take the King upstairs.  The King was very, very drunk," whispered the courtier with gleeful malice.

"Oh, bother," muttered Elise.  She let go of Reaver's hand and ran out of the ballroom, to go help Zachary with the King.

Reaver muttered a few foreign oaths under his breath, then turned to the courtier with a smile.  "So, what happened with the King?" he asked, offering the man his arm.

Without hesitation, he slipped his arm into Reaver's and began chattering away, telling the story of how Logan had nearly challenged someone to a duel in a drunken rage, and how the Prince had bravely stood up to the King, soothed the angry noble, and prevented a brawl from breaking out with only a few well-chosen words before leaving his ball to go take care of his older brother.  Reaver sighed.  "Denied again.  Someday, my little Prince.  Someday."

"What was that?" asked the noble on his arm.

Reaver smiled, and decided to take what was in front of him while he waited.

 

"What?  He's still here?"  Zachary groaned.  "Fine, I'll get rid of him.  Stay here, Elise.  You, too, Walter."

"My Prince - "

"I'm trying to prevent a duel, not precipitate one."  Zachary smiled at the old warrior.  "I'm sure you could beat him, but only if he fights fair.  And I'm pretty sure he won't fight fair."  He straightened his coat and started down the stairs to the ballroom.

There was a group of nobles gathered just at the entrance to the ballroom, surrounding the pugnacious and drunken noble that was currently the thorn in the young Prince's side.  Zachary checked his reflection in one of the many hall mirrors.  Appearances were very important in Albion.  He saw a tall, familiar man in the mirror, smiling sardonically at him as he fixed his cravat and buttoned his coat.

Without greeting the Prince, Reaver brushed off an imaginary speck of lint from the waves of lace at his cuffs as he walked toward into the ballroom, and accidentally jarred the arm of the angry nobleman.  The impact jostled the noble's arm, spilling a few drops of his drink on Reaver's arm.  "Well, really," snapped Reaver.  "One would think someone as large as yourself would make an effort not to be so very in the way."  Reaver's voice was cold and deliberately insulting.

The noble flushed red at the implication that he was fat - a deadly insult in Albion.  "What?  I didn't - you hit me," blustered the noble.  As a man who didn't have the sense not to antagonize a King, obviously he couldn't be expected to appease a mere Baron.

Reaver looked down at the stain on the otherwise spotless white arm of his coat.  "You are mistaken," he said quietly.  "If I had hit you, you would know."  He glared at the drunken lord.  "Allow me to demonstrate."  Before anyone could move, Reaver slapped him across the face, a smooth and graceful wave of his hand that somehow sent the man reeling back.  "There, you see?  No doubt in your mind now, is there?"

The man's companions helped him right himself.  "Why, you - I demand satisfaction, Baron!"

Reaver bowed.  "And you shall have it."  He turned to his right, where Lord B-- was staring wide-eyed at the unexpected turn this confrontation had taken.  "Will you act for me, my dear?  Pistols, swords, I could care less.  You will find me at home once I take my leave of our host."  Ignoring the hushed chatter behind him, Reaver turned away and walked back to the hall, where Zachary was standing, speechless.  "My Prince," Reaver bowed.

"Oh, but - you can't - " Zachary stammered.

Reaver drew the Prince into a sheltered alcove before anyone noticed them.  "Oh, but I most certainly can," Reaver smiled.  He paused to look over the young Prince.  Zachary had grown slightly taller over the years, but still only came up to Reaver's shoulders.  He had filled out as well, but would always be lean, as his mother had been.  He still had his boyish good looks, and Reaver smiled at the worried frown on his face.  "Surely you don't think that I'm in any danger?  Perhaps you do.  Perhaps I should make you worry about me more often," said Reaver softly as he pulled the Prince into his arms.

Zachary made not even a show of resistance.  Indeed, he practically melted into Reaver's embrace, throwing his arms around the older man and seeking his lips the way a flower seeks the sun.

Reaver had heard the gossip about the Prince - that he was frigid, that he was a eunuch, that he had unnatural desires.  Reaver ran his tongue over the Prince's lips, making the young man in his arms shudder with barely suppressed passion, and knew that none of those things were true.  The Prince was just one of those very, very rare people who could only be aroused by one person in all of Albion - and that person just happened to be Reaver.  There was also something else, another secret hidden on the Prince's soft, sweet lips, something that would probably cause a lot of trouble for King Logan in years to come.  Reaver could feel it when they touched, and he knew that the Prince didn't know what it was, or why he drew people to him the way he did, why he could see things that no one else noticed, why he cared so much about the people of Albion.

The Prince was a Hero.  One of the ones that would end up saving the world, whether he wanted to or not.  But he hadn't started on his path yet, and the power inside him was still dormant.  But it was there, and Reaver could taste it on his lips.  He felt the young body move against him, and slid a hand between the Prince's legs.  Zachary rubbed himself against Reaver's hand as he outlined the shape and hardness there.  Reaver moved his kisses down the young man's neck, and wondered if the Prince tasted like a Hero everywhere.

"No," gasped Zachary, "I can't - not now, not like this.  Please," he whispered softly.

Reaver reluctantly drew his hands away from the Prince, and stepped back.

Zachary staggered back against the wall, shaken.  "Do you have that effect on everyone?"

"So long as I have it on you, I am content."  Reaver smiled.  "One kiss, my Prince, before I leave."  Zachary looked nervously at him.  "You can trust me," coaxed Reaver as he moved closer to claim his kiss.

"It's not you I'm worried about," murmured the Prince, and tilted his head up to meet Reaver's lips.

 

"Walter!  Stand aside, I have to go!"

"No, Your Highness.  Absolutely not."  Walter's voice was firm, and he refused to move from the door.

"What are you two arguing about?" asked Logan from the couch where he lay.  He half-sat up, still slightly groggy.

"Reaver is fighting a duel," said the Prince.  "With Lord M--."  Try as he might, he couldn't keep a note of worry from his voice, but he had no idea how expressive his eyes were.  Logan looked down and shook his head.

"It is no concern of yours," said Walter.  "You are not going."

"Walter, would you excuse us for a moment?"  Logan leaned back against the cushions while Walter left the room.  Logan didn't say anything as the door closed, and Zachary spoke first.

"He's doing it because Lord M-- ruined my party!  I have to go!"

"Of course you do," Logan agreed.  "Quick, go down the balcony stairs before Walter gets suspicious.  You know where they are, right?"

For a moment, Zachary was stunned.  It had been so long since Logan had acted like his brother, and he'd almost forgotten how wonderful it was.  "They're at Merry's Walk."

"Wait, take one of my cloaks," Logan commanded.  "You're too noticeable in that getup.  Whatever you do, don't interrupt the duel."

"Of course not!"  Zachary smiled gratefully at his brother as he grabbed one of the dark cloaks from Logan's wardrobe and wrapped it around himself, covering the gleaming white costume that he wore.  The door rattled slightly, and he ran before Walter could stop him.  He sped down the stairs and ran around the side of the castle, to the stables.  As usual, there were mounts ready for messengers and he took one of the best from the line.  Zachary coaxed the horse to its best speed, racing towards the dueling green so that he could find a good place to conceal himself before the duelists arrived.

Reaver stepped out of his carriage and pretended to fix the already perfect fall of his spotless white cravat while he listened.  He had changed into the traditional dueling outfit: a dark suit, spotless black boots, black silk gloves.  The touch of white at his chest was his badge of arrogance, an easy target that no opponent had ever touched.

The sun was just rising, giving the perfect light for legally sanctioned murder.  His opponent was already on the field, sneezing in reaction to a particularly strong pinch of snuff.  The doctor was yawning, and Reaver could hear the crinkle of paper in her pockets - she was too familiar with Reaver's duels, and had already filled out the necessary paperwork.  And somewhere, out of sight, he could hear the soft jingle of a horse's harness, the impatient stamp of a riderless horse's hooves.  Reaver smiled to himself, and walked up to where the others stood.  The familiar rhythm began – the seconds attempting reconciliation, the principals refusing it.  The weapons checked and handed out.

Reaver raised his dueling pistol to his lips, greeting the old and trusted friend.  He hummed a song under his breath as he walked, listening to the referee counting out the paces.  Counting out the time before he could fairly act.

"Eight," said the referee, slightly bored, and Reaver heard what the referee and the seconds didn't, a soft click, a bullet shifting in a chamber.  "Nine," said the referee, and Lord M-- fired his weapon.  Reaver heard a shocked gasp, and smiled even wider, as he continued humming until he finished the song.

"Ten," said Reaver, and turned.  His eyes were on his opponent, but he was aiming at something else.  Something very small, moving very fast, but not faster than him.  Not while he was holding a gun, anyway.  Nothing was faster than Reaver holding a gun.  He fired, at exactly the right moment, and Lord M-- made a horrible noise as half of his head seemed to disappear.  Lord M-- fell over in a very strange and unattractive way.

Reaver frowned in distaste, and blew the smoke away from his pistol before handing it over to Lord B--  to be examined, as always happened after a death.  "I suppose this unfortunate incident has me so distressed I shall have to go home alone," he sighed.  "Perhaps you could stop by later tonight."  Reaver dusted off his hands with his silk handkerchief, and walked back to his carriage.  He could hear the talking of the people behind him, their confusion, their barely concealed terror, but he ignored it, so he could focus on the faint sound of lace brushing against leather.  Someone crawling into his carriage.  Reaver realized that he was still smiling, in a way that he hadn't smiled in many, many, many years.  He opened the door, and quickly entered his carriage, closing the door behind him before reaching for the soft body he knew was concealed there.  He needn't have bothered – the Prince threw himself into Reaver's arms with the impulsive grace of youth.

"That was amazing!" cried Zachary as he covered Reaver's handsome face with kisses.  "You shot his bullet!  You shot his bullet, and they both hit him!  That was incredible!"

Lust and admiration.  A heady mix, one that Reaver was happy to appreciate.  "I told you I wasn't in any danger," he smirked.  "But I'm pleased that you watched.  More pleased that you're here," he growled as he drew the Prince into his arms.  His driver had already started back to his estate, and Reaver noted that the Prince didn't stumble or bounce despite the unevenness of the road, but landed smoothly in his lap, eagerly fitting his lithe young body against Reaver.  "And very impressed," murmured Reaver as he returned Zachary's wild kisses.  "Not everyone would have noticed that," he murmured, fully aware that Zachary wasn't listening to him.  He slid a hand between the Prince's legs, seeking and caressing.

"Why can't I resist you?" the Prince laughed, half-shuddering as he moved himself against Reaver.  This man's touch made all his inhibitions melt away, and every one of Reaver's kisses made him want more.

"Why would you want to?"  Reaver asked, mockingly, and drew him closer so that he could work his hand beneath the Prince's clothes.  Reaver kissed him again as he sought the touch of Zachary's skin, and wondered how the world would react to see the cold, shy Prince now.

They both looked up at the same time, as the sound of approaching horses drew closer.  The carriage drew to the side to let the horsemen pass, then stopped abruptly.  Reaver swore under his breath, and Zachary laughed.  "It's Walter."  He sighed, and gave Reaver one last kiss before withdrawing to the seat opposite.  The Prince was smiling, and avoided Reaver's eyes – not shyly, but with a barely suppressed wantonness that made Reaver wonder what would happen to him if he shot Sir Walter and kidnapped the Prince.

Walter flung open the door of the carriage.  "I apologize for this intrusion, Baron," he said unapologetically.  "Your Highness."

"Thank you for the ride, Baron."  Zachary gracefully slipped out of the carriage, deftly avoiding any contact with Reaver's body.

Reaver suspected the Prince had been trying to think of a way to get himself kidnapped – but probably without killing Sir Walter.  "Another time, my Prince?"

The Prince looked up at him, his lips still reddened by Reaver's passion, curved in a perfect smile.  "Another time, Reaver."  He mounted swiftly and gracefully, and turned the horse's head back to the castle before Walter started lecturing him.

Reaver took in the lean lines of the young man's body, still dressed in the virginal white costume from the ball beneath a dark cloak that was just a little too long and too large for him.  "Then I will wait," answered Reaver.


	4. Courting

"Is it really true that you've never had sex with anyone?" asked Logan.

Zachary blushed and looked up from the sheet of music he was reading.  "Yes, it's true," he said quickly.  He flipped the page, and silently prayed that his brother would find another topic of conversation.

"Why Reaver?"

"I don't know why," said Zachary, now bright red and more embarrassed than he ever thought possible.  "I just do.  I mean, I want to.  I haven't.  I can't help it," he blurted out.  "Every time I see him, I just want – whatever he wants."

"Poor Walter," smiled Logan.  "He's utterly scandalized."  The King laughed, and walked away from the piano.  "Are you having a real lesson now, or just practicing?"

"Just practicing," mumbled Zachary.  "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no," Logan waved the suggestion away.  "Practice away."  Logan smiled to himself as he left the music room and returned to his study.

"Here is your agenda for today," smiled Hobson.  "The Baron of Greater Bowerstone is here to see you about these figures," the portly steward handed a sheet of paper to the King, "but it would be in extremely poor taste for you to show him any favor so soon after that unfortunate incident with Lord M--."

"Of course," mused Logan.  "Would you ask the Baron to come in for a moment?  I'll give him his official scolding and send him away."

"Of course," said Hobson eagerly, and almost ran out of the room to fetch Reaver.

Logan smiled to himself and walked over to the windows, taking in the view of the castle courtyard.  He heard the door open, and half-turned to greet his guest.  "Baron," smiled the King, then remembered to be stern.  "I believe there is an official edict against dueling in Bowerstone."

Reaver bowed to the King.  "So I've been told, Your Majesty.  In fact, I think you brought it up last on Braider's Green.  Swords, was it not?"

Logan laughed.  "Oh, hush, Reaver.  You're being censured, not asked to reminisce about the wild days of my youth."  Logan smiled at the windows, or perhaps at the memory.  "At any rate, I can't spend any more time with you or it will seem like favoritism.  I'll look over those numbers you sent.  Would you care to wait?  Or do you have something better to do?"

Reaver shrugged.  "I'm indifferent, Your Majesty.  I just need you to make a decision on the new foundry as soon as possible."

"Of course," Logan agreed.  He glanced at the door.  "Well, perhaps you could wait in the music room?  I'll be there as soon as I'm done with the rest of this business," he said, gesturing calmly at the papers on his desk.

"I appreciate your condescension and understanding," Reaver bowed, and walked through the door to the music room.

"You're welcome, Baron," smiled Logan to himself, and sat down at his desk to deal with running the kingdom.

Reaver heard the words, and shook his head.  He walked down the short hallway to the music room, and froze just as he was about to open the door, suddenly understanding Logan's sardonic comment.  A rush of graceful notes, rippling as quickly as a leaf upon the wind, rang out from the room.  Someone was playing.  Reaver swallowed nervously, and walked into the room.

Zachary, his lovely eyes intent on the sheet of music before him, sat at the piano.  Reaver indulged himself for a moment, watching the young man's fingers dance over the keys.  The Prince was dressed casually, as if he didn't plan to be seen today, in a neatly-buttoned, plain white linen shirt and dark brown trousers that were cut for comfort rather than style.  Reaver looked around the room.  There was no one in the room, besides a servant turning the pages for the Prince.  Reaver walked silently over to where the Prince sat, and shooed away the servant.  He smiled as he heard the servant take the precaution of locking the door on their way out, and made a mental note to reward him for his discretion later.

Zachary didn't immediately notice the change, but continued playing the complicated piece, until he finally noticed the hand carefully flipping the music wasn't that of a servant, but a strong, finely manicured hand.  He looked up in surprise, and the notes slowly died away as his hands fell still on the keys.  "Reaver?"

Before the Prince could ask what he was doing here, Reaver bent down and drew the Prince into his arms.  His lips were soft and sweet as always, maddeningly innocent, laced with hidden power and barely tamed desire.  Just as he had a few short days ago, the Prince threw himself into Reaver's arms, willing and eager to be plundered by Reaver's lips.  Reaver lifted the Prince from the bench, and led him over to the nearby sofa, kissing him hungrily the entire time.  He worked his hands down the Prince's body, unfastened the front of Zachary's trousers, and gently pushed them down before he guided the Prince to sit on the sofa.

Trembling and obedient, Zachary sank to the sofa and let Reaver pull away his trousers and underclothes before pushing his legs apart so that he could kneel in front of him.  Zachary watched, barely breathing, as Reaver's dark head sank over his cock, and cried out softly at the first skilled touch of Reaver's tongue.  He flung back his head, arching into Reaver's mouth as the vastly more experienced man made soft noises of appreciation.  Zachary gasped as Reaver's hands slid under his hips, lifting him closer as Reaver continued to lick and suck, tantalizing the hard flesh with his lips and his tongue.  Zachary raised his hands over his head, dug them into the sofa, trying to hide his face in his arms to stifle the wild cries that threatened to break free while his hips thrust uncontrollably into Reaver's mouth.  He'd never done this before.  He'd never imagined anything like this before.  "Reaver," he whimpered helplessly, not sure how to explain what his body was trying to tell him, but Reaver understood, and changed the angle of his throat, almost swallowing Zachary's cock whole.  Zachary screamed his name again, and Reaver swallowed every delicious drop before pulling away with a satisfied smile.

"Lovely," Reaver murmured.  The Prince sprawled on the couch, somehow still elegant rather than clumsy, and Reaver leaned down to kiss him.  "I don't suppose you'd want to do the same for me?" Reaver smiled.

The thought of Reaver's cock quickly roused Zachary from his orgasmic stupor.  "I've never done it before," said Zachary nervously.  "You'll tell me if I do anything wrong?"

Reaver laughed, and began opening his trousers.  "Practice makes perfect, my dear little Prince."  He raised an eyebrow at the utterly wanton look on the Prince's face when he laid eyes on Reaver's cock.  "You approve?"

"Oh.  Oh, yes," breathed Zachary.  He reached out and pulled Reaver closer, running his hand over the length and width of it.  "I want it.  I want you.  I want to touch it, and taste it, and – "

"It's all yours, my dear.  Please, take your time."  Reaver smiled in pleasure at the touch of the Prince's hands, and watched him examine it, stroke it.  The Prince swallowed, hungrily rather than nervously, and he quickly looked up at Reaver, as if asking permission.  Reaver chuckled, and the Prince slid forward so that he could kneel in front of Reaver.

Zachary's tongue flicked out, tasting the glistening head, and he gasped with delight, not at the taste, but at the sensual feel of Reaver's flesh throbbing beneath his tongue.  He kissed, he licked, he opened his mouth and took as much of Reaver's cock into his mouth as he could.

"Gently, my dear," chided Reaver, and stroked the young man's hair, carefully guiding him, controlling him.  "That's it, use your tongue, just like that, yes," moaned Reaver.  It didn't take long for Zachary's enthusiastic adoration of Reaver's cock to get Reaver to the point where he pulled away in gentle warning.  "I don't want you to gag, my dear.  It's most unattractive.  Come here," he pulled Zachary to his feet, and placed the Prince's hand where his mouth had been while he drew the young man's lips to his.  The Prince began stroking Reaver while they kissed, pressing himself against Reaver and buried his other hand in Reaver's dark hair.

Reaver ran his hands over the curves of the Prince's body, held him close against him as he came, spilling his seed all over the Prince's hand.  "Lovely," moaned Reaver again, and drew the Prince to him as he sat down on the sofa.  Zachary ended up in his lap, his head resting on Reaver's shoulder, and raised his hand to his lips, licking experimentally at the white fluid covering his hand.  Reaver watched, fascinated, as Zachary licked his hand clean.  "Well, we'll certainly have to do that again," smiled Reaver.

"Yes," said Zachary, slightly breathless with the sudden thoughts swirling in his mind.  "Please.  I want you," he whispered.  "I want you inside me."

Reaver smiled, and pulled the Prince to him for another kiss.  "And I want you, my lovely, believe me."

Zachary smiled, slightly shy again, and gently kissed Reaver's cheek, touched the older man's dark hair.  "What else do you want from me?"

Reaver chuckled in amusement.  "Whatever you're offering, lovely one."  He glanced at the Prince's eyes, and his smile died.  "Unless you meant something permanent.  You did, didn't you?  Damn."  Before he could move to stop him, Zachary slid off his lap, graceful and swift, leaving Reaver torn between admiration and irritation.  "I keep forgetting how young you are," murmured Reaver as he watched the Prince fix his clothes and walk over to the piano.  Reaver crossed his legs, and spread his arms over the back of the sofa.  "You're still at the age where every kiss is supposed to end in wedding bells.  But, aren't you engaged to that darling young Lady Rothering?"

"My engagement to Lady Rothering was based on my brother's political needs, and the fact that I can tolerate her company for longer than a sonata."  Zachary sat down at the piano, facing Reaver but not looking at him.

"An important foundation for any relationship," Reaver agreed, darkly sardonic.  "I take it that arrangement no longer satisfies you."

Zachary raised his head, an unconsciously regal movement.  "It doesn't sound like I have an alternative."

Reaver closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the right words.  "While the idea of touching you every day for the rest of your life does have undeniable appeal, I'm afraid I'm not in a position to ask for your hand."

"Not in a position?" repeated Zachary, almost stunned.  "What can you possibly mean by that?  You have wealth enough, and my brother obviously approves.  You're not already married, are you?" asked the Prince in horror, suddenly afraid that he had broken one of Albion's greatest taboos.

"No," sighed Reaver.  "Set your mind at ease, my Prince.  It is not that."  Reaver stood up and busied himself with straightening his clothes.  "I would far rather that you felt slightly insulted by my refusal than utterly repulsed by knowing the truth."  Reaver bowed, excessively polite, cold and distant.

"What kind of answer is that?" demanded Zachary.

"It's all the answer you're going to get, my Prince," said Reaver firmly.  "Am I correct in assuming that this means we will be having no more of our lovely little interludes?"

"Why – why won't you just tell me?"

Reaver frowned at the slight touch of tears in Zachary's eyes.  "It isn't my story to tell, I'm afraid."  He looked over the Prince again, not meeting his eyes.  "May I stay, or should I be going?"

"I can't – " Zachary shook his head, trying to regain his self-control.  "I'm sorry, I'm not like that.  I can't – not if I know it's not going to be – get out."  Zachary buried his face in his hands.

Reaver gritted his teeth.  He hated feeling this way.  Unclean.  Unworthy.  But it wasn't as if he could climb back up to the pedestal where the Prince had placed him – it was far too late for that.  His only hope was that the Prince would someday sink down to his level.  "Well," he said, forcing a false sense of cheer into his voice, "if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

"You must think I'm such a fool," said Zachary quietly.

The misery in his voice stung Reaver more than he thought possible at his age.  He walked over to the piano bench, and tilted the Prince's head up to his.  "I prefer, 'refreshingly naïve,'" smiled Reaver.  "Another time, my Prince.  Perhaps I will be able to make it up to you."  He brushed away a stray tear, and bent down to kiss Zachary on the cheek.  "I will wait."

 

Zachary walked out into the gardens, savoring the cool breeze from the fountains and the fresh air after the overheated stuffiness of the banquet hall.  He walked quickly away from the bowers, trying to avoid the pain of seeing happy couples snuggling beneath the scented vines.  He hadn't seen Reaver for days, not until tonight.  Reaver acted as if they had never met before.

Walter was relieved, of course, but still wouldn't explain why he thought Reaver was an improper choice for him.  Logan was quietly furious, and acted as if Zachary had somehow failed him.  Elise was jealous, angry, and relieved all at once, all of which left Zachary completely lost and confused and miserable.

Keeping his steps as silent as possible, Zachary walked towards the fountain at the far end of the palace gardens.  It had the nickname, "The Gargoyle Fountain," and the late Hero Queen had loathed that specific fountain for some unknowable reason.  It was rumored to be haunted, but all Zachary cared about was that no one else went there.  He started up the stairs to the small fountain, and froze.  There was someone there, silhouetted against the moonlight.  He couldn't see the man's face, but there was just enough light to reveal the broad shoulders, the sweep of dark hair, the strong jaw.

Zachary must have made a noise without realizing it, because Reaver turned, swift and sure as always.  There wasn't enough light for him to see Reaver's face, and he wasn't fast enough to move away before Reaver had him in his arms again, kissing him wildly and fiercely.

"Damn you!" Reaver growled, then kissed him again, leaving Zachary breathless and shaking.  "Why won't you leave me be?"  Then he kissed him again, but the anger in his kisses seemed to melt away, and Reaver buried his hands in the Prince's hair as he kissed him again and again, with all the pent-up longing that a man will build up after years of denying his own need for love.  Suddenly, he thrust the Prince away from him, and staggered back against the fountain.  "Damn you," said Reaver again.  "I think you delight in making me so wretched."

"Reaver!"  Zachary was shocked, but more by the misery in Reaver's voice than by his words.  "What do you want from me, then?"

"I want you to hate me, boy.  I want you to leave me - " Reaver choked on the words, and couldn't bring himself to finish.  "No, damn you, I don't know what I want.  I only know that I can't give you what you want," he said bitterly.  "And if you had any idea what it just cost me to say those words, you would be kinder to a broken old man and stop tempting me at every turn."

"I don't understand," said Zachary softly.  "But I don't want to lose you, Reaver.  I can't lose you - you're the only thing that matters to me."

Reaver laughed harshly.  "Tell me that again in," Reaver calculated in his head, "about two years, give or take."  Reaver brushed off his suit, using the movement to regain his self-composure.  "You're a foolish boy, and you haven't even started living yet.  You have no idea what it means to lose the things that matter."

"Will you be angry if I kiss you?" asked Zachary, his voice soft and slightly wanton, seeking to erase Reaver's misery in the only way he knew.

"It won't stop me from leaving," sighed Reaver.  "This can't go on, my Prince."

Zachary didn't answer, and instead moved back to Reaver's arms, fitting into the older man's embrace as if he had been made for Reaver's touch.  Their lips met, like the sun touching a flower.  "I love you," said Zachary, as he finally pulled away from the kiss.

"I know," said Reaver, trying to make his voice sound cold and untouched, but he was as shaken as Zachary.  "And that's why I must go."

"Reaver, please," Zachary tried to stop him, but Reaver was stronger and faster, and he slipped away into the darkness before Zachary could move.  Too proud to break down sobbing in the gardens, Zachary fled back to his room and threw himself down on the bed so that he could give in his confused grief in the privacy of his own room.

He had no idea how long he laid there, his face buried in his pillows, until there was a soft knock at the door.  He recognized Jasper's polite rap.

"Go away," Zachary said, trying not to let Jasper hear his sobs.

"I think you want to see this, Your Highness," said Jasper kindly.

Zachary slid off the bed and opened the door to his room, just enough to see Jasper's gentle smile.

"Here you are," Jasper handed him a crystal vase, holding one perfect white rose, with a small note attached to it.

Zachary grabbed the flower the way a drowning man grabs a rope, and turned away after whispering his thanks.  His knees wouldn't hold him any longer, and he sank to the floor, staring at the flower and the folded square of crisp ivory paper.  With trembling hands, he carefully took the note from the stem, and unfolded it, to see Reaver's bold script: "With my regards to My Prince, I must inform you that business calls me away from Bowerstone.  I deeply regret any distress that I have caused you.  I can only hope that you will Forgive me, and perhaps, someday soon, Forget the Most Unworthy - Reaver."


	5. Masquerade the Second

"And that's the man you wanted to marry," growled Walter.  "Come, Zachary – let's get away from this crowd before someone notices us."

In his Dweller garments, Zachary stood out like a sore thumb - but at least he didn't look like a Prince.  He was glad for the concealing headscarf and the fur collar that hid his blushes as he followed Walter.  He was horrified by the scene that he had just witnessed, but he couldn't help admiring Reaver's skill and the way he had commanded the crowd of angry workers.  He also couldn't deny that he still had feelings for Reaver, and that he would give anything to see him again.

Days later, when Page finally unfolded her plan for rescuing the Resistance fighters who had disappeared in Reaver's mansion, Zachary decided to be more specific in the future when making wishes.  "A masquerade?" he said in disbelief.  He wondered if coincidences like this happened to Heroes all the time.

"Yes," sneered Page.  "A bunch of nobles gather, put on masks, and get drunk enough so that they can do all the debauched things they dream of and pretend not to remember it in the morning."

"Lovely," sighed Zachary.  He opened the box that Page had handed him with the garish masquerade suit, and looked curiously at the mask.  "What is this supposed to be?  Some kind of animal?"

"How would I know?  Just put it on and meet me in Millfields, outside Reaver's manor."

"You'll look quite a treat in that," grinned Ben Finn.  "Simply stunning."

Zachary glared at the young soldier.  "These colors are hideous, and – that reminds me of something I wanted to ask you, Walter."

"Oh?"  Walter looked curiously at him, but Zachary busied himself closing the box.

"Let's head back to the Sanctuary."  Zachary nodded farewell to Page, and left Ben and Major Swift to enjoy the hospitality of the Bowerstone Resistance.  Walter followed him out of the underground hideout, and as soon as he was sure no one could see them, Zachary used the Guild Seal to return them both to the Sanctuary.

"A masquerade?" sniffed Jasper.  "Please, allow me to inspect this… outfit… before you don it, Your Highness."  Jasper took the box and walked into the Dressing Room, probably to fumigate the clothing before altering it to fit Zachary properly.

"What's bothering you, my boy?"  Walter looked curiously at Zachary, who was pulling off his hat.

"My hair," said Zachary.  He ran his hands through his hair and tossed the hat aside.

Walter looked at him in confusion.  "What's wrong with your hair, lad?"

"It used to be dark brown, when I was very young.  It got lighter when I got older, but it was still brown."

"Ah," said Walter softly.  "That."

"It's turning – gold, or something.  Walter, why is my hair changing color?"

"Because you're a Hero, Zachary."

Zachary walked across the room, restless in mind and body.  "So was my mother, Walter.  But her hair was black.  I remember it.  She had very long, beautiful dark hair."

"Yes," said Walter slowly.  "She did.  Not all Heroes are the same."

Zachary stared at the walls around him.  His mother had built this place, this secret place, and left instructions on everything except all the things he wanted to know.  "She was evil, wasn't she?" he said finally.

"Not – exactly," said Walter calmly.  "She was concerned for the safety of her kingdom, but she didn't worry about the individual people who lived in it, not the way you do.  She pursued her own pleasures without caring what others thought of her, but she was loyal to her husbands and loved her children.  She was not perfect, Zachary, nor did she care to be.  She was born a Hero, but made herself a Queen.  She had no interest in being a saint, she wanted to enjoy her life and do her duty, no more."

Zachary looked down at the magical map of Albion, showing the kingdom that his mother had forged and the surrounding lands.  "What happened to her?  Why did she die, Walter?  I remember seeing streaks of grey in her hair one day, and it seemed that barely a year after that – "

"I really can't tell you what happened," Walter confessed.  "But you're right, the power in her seemed to fade away, and it went quickly.  But she was content, and seemed to know it was happening.  I've often thought she provoked that final battle just so that she could die fighting."

"And expand the kingdom all the way down to the shore," said Zachary softly, running his hand over the map.  "She was going to conquer all of this, wasn't she?  But she died.  And she left it to Logan.  But she knew he wasn't a Hero, so why – "

"You'll drive yourself mad if you keep worrying about these things.  We don't know, and we can't know, what your mother had planned.  All I know is that she left you – and Logan – the tools to forge your own destinies.  What you do with the power she left you is entirely up to you."

Zachary pulled a lock of hair in front of his eyes, and looked at it critically.  When his mother's hair had started showing streaks of grey, his hair had started becoming lighter.  He remembered this, because she had mentioned it – with pride, and a slight touch of amusement in her voice.  "You take after your father," she had laughed, "and look, you're stealing my hair's color!"  She had held up a handful of her beautiful dark hair against his head, and then burst out into a peal of that fierce, prideful laughter that he remembered so well.

 

Zachary thought of that laughter later, in the main ballroom of Reaver's mansion.  The familiar crowd of nobles, pressing against each other, drinking to excess in between the dances, going off into dark corners in little groups of twos and threes, sometimes four.  Laughing, Reaver was leaning against the balcony railing, looking down on his guests.  He was handsome, still the most handsome man that Zachary had ever seen.  The masquerade costume that he wore fitted him to perfection.  Exquisitely cut, fitting without a wrinkle, the white coat showed off his broad shoulders and well-muscled chest.  The champagne colored trousers clung to the muscles of his legs as he had been poured into them, broadly hinting at the treasure concealed there.  His dark paisley waistcoat glittered with gold and diamond buttons, and a dark green silk cravat, tied in some unusual new knot that Zachary had ever seen, adorned his throat.  Beneath the bestial mask, Reaver's dark eyes glittered with scornful amusement, and his sensual lips curved in a hard smile as he watched people fall under the sway of the freely-flowing alcohol and the atmosphere of lust.  Zachary tried not to remember what it felt like to have those lips claiming his, and turned away from staring hungrily at Reaver.

"I'm going to try and look around," hissed Page.  "See if I can find any hint of where my men might be."

Zachary didn't bother trying to tell her to fit in, and wandered off himself to look for the missing revolutionaries on his own.  Reaver's mansion, as befitted a wealthy industrialist, was opulent and oversized.  There were an abundance of small rooms just outside the ballroom that had nothing more than a couch and a table of drinks, most of them occupied.  Zachary declined invitations to join a frolic, and continued walking down the hallway, pretending that he was searching for a lost companion.  He wandered up a set of stairs, and found himself in a large, luxurious bedroom.  Zachary shook his head, knowing that there wouldn't be any prisoners here, and turned to leave the room.

"Oh, my, what is this?" said a woman.  She walked into the room, her sparkling green gown trailing behind her.  "Reaver does have the best taste," she said approvingly as she walked around Zachary.  Zachary smiled politely and tried to move away, but she slipped her arm into his, holding him captive with an unexpected strength.  "Don't leave so soon," she said softly.  Her mask disfigured her face, but he could see her full, red lips glistening with moisture, as if she had just finished a drink.  "Stay.  Amuse me."

"How many times have I told you to stop breaking into my bedroom?" said Reaver wearily as he entered the room.  "Shoo, Anna.  You're not welcome here.  Shoo!"  Reaver flicked his hands at the woman in green, and she smiled insincerely back at him.

"You're a terrible host, Baron."

"I am aware," Reaver said, bowing politely, and held open the door for her.

With a low, eerie laugh, the woman started walking out of the room, and Zachary took the opportunity to disentangle himself from her.  Her perfume seemed to linger in the air after she was gone, and Zachary reluctantly started for the door, hoping not to run into her again.

"One moment," smiled Reaver, and put his arm around Zachary's waist, drawing him back into the room.  "I believe I caught you breaking and entering," he chuckled.  "That is a crime, you know."  With the skill that only comes from experience, he tilted his captive's head so that they could kiss without ruining each other's masks.  "Fear not, the fine is not too heavy.  I'm sure you have the coin I desire."

Zachary wondered wildly how he could escape, but his arms were already circling Reaver's neck, his body was already pressed against Reaver, his lips already submitting to Reaver's hungry kisses.

Reaver pulled away from him in shock.  "You remind me of someone," said Reaver softly.  The door opened again, and a noisy crowd entered the room, jeering and laughing.  Before Reaver could say anything else, Zachary broke away from him and ran into the hall and down the stairs.

"Zachary?"  Page stopped him before he reached the door.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he stammered quickly.  "Did you find them?  We need to get out of here."

"No, but there's one last room I haven't checked."  Page looked at him again.  "No, really, what's wrong?"

"Someone might have recognized me," said Zachary quickly.  "We should hurry, before it's too late."  Zachary noted a discarded mask outside one of the many side rooms.  "Wait a moment."  Zachary quickly changed some of the feathers on his mask, giving himself a new appearance.  "There, that might help.  For a few minutes, anyway."

"Just don't talk to anyone," ordered Page.  She led him down the hall, to the last door that she had to check.  The door led to a dark hallway that opened to another room.  Page looked around in confusion.  "Wait, this is the main ballroom, isn't it?"

The room was almost completely dark, and the floor looked eerily abandoned despite a set of quiet noises, as if people were hiding somewhere.  Zachary could hear the soft rustle of ballgowns, the low rumble of breathing, the noise of someone swallowing a drink.  But there was no one in the room, no one on the dance floor.  Where the orchestra had been set up was now empty, revealing an odd mechanical gear on the wall.  Zachary wasn't sure if it was art, or some kind of elaborate sconce.  He heard something metallic clink gently against the floor, and saw a large structure that hadn't been there a moment ago.  "There's something in the center of the room," he whispered.

"Let's check it out," Page whispered back, and they walked towards the object.  It was a cage, and the man inside gasped as they recognized each other.  "Kidd!"

Zachary took hold of the bars, and tried to get one loose.  He could hear something rattling, but they wouldn't give way.

"Page!"  Kidd grasped the bars in desperation.  "The others are dead, you've got to get out of here, Page!  It's a – "

The lights came on, revealing a crowd of people gathered on the upper balconies, smiling and laughing in vicious amusement at the scene below.  "Oh my," said Reaver as Kidd's cage slowly began to rise back to the ceiling, "more busy little bees, here to steal Reaver's honey?  Tsk tsk."  Reaver shook his head, and the assorted guests laughed as Zachary was lifted into the air along with Kidd's cage.  "So industrious, but so misguided," he sighed.  "And so very annoying.  When will you people learn to just enjoy life?"

"I'll enjoy killing you!" Page shouted.  "Does that count?"

"Oh my, you're just full of," Reaver paused to smile maliciously, "spunk, aren't you?"  Even under her dark skin, it was clear that Page flushed, and Zachary suspected that he was totally missing the joke.  "A true heroine," Reaver sneered.  "You must be quite a bit of lightning between the sheets."

"You filthy – "

"And now for the final _pièce de résistance_ ," Reaver laughed, ignoring Page's angry threats, "another piece of the Resistance.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: The Wheel of Misfortune!"  Reaver pulled a lever at his side, setting the large gear on the wall spinning.

Kidd's cage stopped rising just above the level of the balcony, and Zachary realized that he wasn't going to be able to help Kidd or Page while dangling in midair, so he let go.  There was a soft hiss of amazement from the crowd as he landed gracefully, and he saw Reaver look at him in surprise. 

"Do try to put on a good show," said the woman in green, standing on the balcony opposite Reaver.  "The last ones were… disappointing.  Their efforts lacked… flavor."

"Yes," said Reaver, trying not to be too obvious as he watched Zachary, "my guests can be so very demanding."

"A show?" shouted Page.  "You expect us to entertain your guests?"

"Oh, it's nothing like that," smiled Reaver.  "It's just a little game, my pigeon.  The wheel spins, you die, we watch.  Delightful."  The gears ground to a halt, and a strange symbol appeared in the center.  "Oh, look.  Hobbes."

"What?" demanded Page, and the floor beneath fell away, dropping them into a large chamber covered in dirt and broken objects.  Page landed heavily, and Zachary, who had again landed on his feet, helped her up.  "What is this?"  There was the sickly squealing of hobbes coming from the far end of the chamber.  Above them, the nobles clapped and cheered, placing bets on the outcome of the fight.  With an angry snarl, Page drew her sword.

"No, don't," said Zachary firmly.  "There are too many of them.  Stay behind me."

"What are you going to do?" asked Page scornfully.

Zachary pushed back the large sleeves of his costume, revealing the leather gauntlets he wore, and began focusing his will.

"Oh my," said Reaver softly as the room erupted in fire, hurling the miserable little hobbes away from the two rebels in the center of the room.  In their terror, the hobbes began running around aimlessly, giving Page easy targets for her pistol.

"What is this?" growled Anna.  "That's no rebel!  That's a Will user!"

"Indeed," said Reaver mildly.  "This should be interesting."  He leaned on the railing and watched them fight through the waves of hobbes.  The masked young man had obviously fought hobbes before, and knew how much fire scared them.  The hobbes only had numbers, and they were no match for the unexpected skill of the rebels.  The last hobbe fell, and the gathered nobles broke into halfhearted applause.  "One almost feels sorry for the repugnant little beasts," sighed Reaver.  "Then one shrugs, and moves on to the next room."  The gears shifted, and the room started rolling.  "You two might want to move on to the next room," suggested Reaver.

"Come on," Zachary grabbed Page, and they quickly ran through the door before the first chamber fell away.

"Reaver's worse than I thought," gasped Page.  "What kind of sick mind dreams up something like this?  Let's just get this over with.  The sooner we get out of this sick game, the sooner we have our chance to kill Reaver."

Zachary didn't answer, and they entered the next chamber just as it settled into place.  The nobles above leaned over eagerly to watch, still placing bets on their fate.

"And what does fate have in store for our young heroes this time?" mused Reaver as the wheel stopped turning.  "Ah, it's just not a party without this dance, is it?  The elegant shuffle of these gentlemen, sure to turn the head of any young maiden.  Probably in a complete circle, ending with her head facing the wrong way, but still.  Say what you like about them, they're impervious to criticism.  A side effect of being… hollow."

This chamber resembled a graveyard – Zachary wondered if it really was a graveyard.  It had the same sinister aura as Mourningwood.  The familiar wisps of light started circling, and he drew his pistol.

"Is that the Bonesmasher?" asked Reaver in amusement.  "An excellent choice, good sir.  Of course, you already had fire at your disposal, so having that weapon is a bit of overkill.  Luck is on your side, obviously."  Anna glared at Reaver, gripping the railing so tightly that it started to bend beneath her hands.  "Temper, temper, my Lady."  Reaver smiled pleasantly.  "You must admit, it is amusing."

The legendary pistol, along with the young rebel's fire spells, made short work of the waves of hollow men, prompting a number of bad jokes about bones and stiffness from the watchers.

"Reaver."  Anna's voice was so angry, she barely sounded human.

"What?" he shrugged.  "So they survived.  How is that my fault?"  The chamber began shifting again, and the two needed no encouragement to leave the cemetery chamber behind for the final room.

"What is this?" said Page in confusion.  "A desert?"

"My dear Lady, I assure you, there's no way they could have faced what's in this room before.  And unless they somehow figure out their only weakness, there's no way they can beat them," smirked Reaver.

With a hideous scream, something jumped out of the sand to attack them.  Instinctively, Zachary drew his sword and swung at it.  The blow connected with flesh, drawing blood that oozed oddly, and the creature tumbled away, hissing furiously.

"They're fast," said Zachary grimly, "but they're weak.  Use your sword, Page, they don't have any kind of armor."

"It would help if their one weakness wasn't so blitheringly obvious," sighed Reaver.  Anna snarled at him, but he ignored her, and watched the fight below.  "They're called 'Sand Furies,' and I am at a loss to understand how they can all be female.  Mind you, I'm not curious enough to investigate personally.  Catching them in the first place was quite enough trouble to last me for some time."  He watched as the last one fell to a vicious sword thrust from Page.  "There's some irony there," grinned Reaver, "and I don't mean the sword.  Well, you lived.  Joy.  Come back upstairs, we can have a light snack and finish off the evening."

The chamber shifted again, and this time the door led them back to the main ballroom.  Anna was twisting the balcony railing beneath her hands, and the some of the guests were also staring silently at Page and Zachary, while others continued drinking and began collecting their winnings.

"Well, it seems you failed to sufficiently amuse my guests," sighed Reaver.  "I tried, but you didn't die."

"You didn't try," snarled Anna.  "You wanted them to live."

"Oh, bosh, don't be ridiculous," scoffed Reaver.  "It was just the luck of the draw!  How was I to know he was a Will user with a fabled weapon and a modicum of common sense?  Hardly everyday fare for a rebel.  They're usually so much easier to kill."

"Then I'll do it myself," Anna snarled furiously, her voice barely recognizable as human, and she jumped from the balcony down to the ballroom below.  Like Zachary, she landed on her feet – but by the time she touched the floor, they were no longer feet.  They were paws, large and covered in dark fur.  Her dress fell to the floor in shredded rags as she completed her transformation from a fairly attractive woman to a huge, bestial balverine.

"No," gasped Page.  "This isn't possible.  Balverines are a myth!"  Even as she spoke, more of Reaver's guests began shifting, and turning on their companions, who were as surprised as Page.

"So is magic," snapped Zachary.  One of the balverines jumped from the balcony to the cage holding Kidd.  Zachary drew his gun and fired at the chain holding the cage in place.  Kidd clung to the side as the cage swayed, and Zachary fired again, timing the shot with the cage's swing.  The chain snapped, dropping the cage to the floor, landing on the balverine.  The door popped open with the force of the fall, and Kidd rushed out to stand with Page and Zachary.

"What is the point of a secret society without a secret?" laughed Reaver.  "Still, this is going to be a hard fight for you.  Balverines are almost completely immune to fire, and highly resistant to normal weapons.  That is," said Reaver, as if suddenly remembering, "unless you happen to know something about spellweaving.  But that's so unlikely, I can't even bring up the possibility that you not only know spellweaving, but that you brought lightning with you, because that's just so ridiculously improbable, I can't even consider it."

Anna threw back her head and howled in fury before charging at Zachary, her claws extended.  Zachary moved out of the way, just in time, and shot at the balverine as she went past.  The bullet landed, but didn't slow her at all.

"Fine," muttered Zachary, "I'll do it your way."  He focused on his will again, drawing power from that invisible place that was both inside and outside of him, twisting the arcane energies from his gauntlets together.  He threw a bolt at the balverine as she charged again.  She arched in agony, stunned by the blast, and her fur began to burn.  Page tossed her sword to Kidd, and began shooting at the helpless balverine.

"Ah, yes, that ever so important 'almost immune' bit.  As in, 'when unable to move, not at all immune.'  Le sigh."  Reaver smiled to himself, and checked the bullets in his gun.  Furious, more balverines jumped down to the ballroom floor to aid their leader while the rest continued feasting on Reaver's other guests.

"Traitor!" snarled one of the balverines, looking up from the body of a dead noble.  "This was your doing, Reaver!"

"Oddly enough, it really wasn't," said Reaver calmly.  "But you'll never believe that, and neither will your leader.  It is a pity, this was such a profitable enterprise, but," Reaver shot the balverine in the eye before it could charge, "you know me.  I do hate to be on the losing side.  And that's you, now!  Funny, isn't it?"  The balverine fell heavily to the floor.

"Silver?" growled another of the balverines.  "Silver?  Reaver, you treacherous bastard!"

"Oh, do get over yourself," said Reaver impatiently.  "You can't fault me for being prepared."  He started shooting the balverines that were still on the balconies, leaving the ones on the floor for the rebels to deal with, all the while keeping an eye on the young Hero.  "Young man, you do realize that you are decimating the local balverine population?"

Zachary held back a laugh, and continued blasting the balverines as they attacked him, dodging their charges and avoiding their claws.  He used his sword when they got too close to him, but he preferred his magic.  He killed the last balverine, and looked around.  Page and Kidd were standing against the wall, panting with their exertions.  "This is the last party I take you to," he grinned at Page.

Page laughed shakily, then suddenly her eyes went wide.  "Look out!" she screamed, and Zachary turned in time to see one last balverine behind him, its claws extended, readying a vicious swipe attack.

The balverine's head snapped back as a shot rang out from the balcony, and it sank to the floor, one eye completely destroyed by the silver bullet from Reaver's gun.

"My, my, you have certainly made me into a bad host," sighed Reaver.  "Look at that, you've disposed of all my guests.  All of them!"

"And now it's your turn, Reaver!" shouted Page.  Before Zachary realized what she was going to do, she fired her gun directly at Reaver.

Reaver raised his cane as if he were merely yawning, and the bullet struck the cane, bouncing off the hard brass shaft to fall at Page's feet.  "Was that really necessary?" smiled Reaver.  "Instead of all this bickering, why don't the three of us retire to my quarters for a private party?"

"No, Reaver, we're going to retire you!  Your days of exploiting the people at the King's command are numbered!  Do you have any idea who this is?" Page shouted.

Zachary finally pulled off the mask that he had worn the entire time, and Reaver smiled at him.

"I like the hair, my Prince.  It suits you."  Reaver brushed an imaginary speck of dirt from his coat.  "So, the King's worst nightmare comes true.  A bona fide Hero.  Still, I wouldn't dream of coming between siblings….  Well, that's not strictly true, is it?  I mean, there was that one time in Samarkand – but, I digress.  Good luck with the whole 'revolution,' my Prince.  I have some things to attend to, but I'm sure we shall meet again.  Until then," Reaver kissed his hand to Zachary, then waved gaily to Page and Kidd as he walked out of sight.

"What?  You coward," shouted Page, "get back here!"  She fired again, and Zachary wrestled her gun away from her.

"Will you stop that?  He just saved our lives!"

"Saved yours, anyway," muttered Kidd.

"Let's just get out of here," urged Zachary.  "We're still trespassing, remember?  I'm not going to explain this to the city guard."

"You're right," said Page grudgingly.  She looked at Zachary as if she had never seen him before.  "You're a Hero.  A real Hero.  Like in the stories, but – you're real."

Zachary smiled wryly.  "So they keep telling me."


End file.
